Scar Tissue
by acid cube
Summary: tragedy blinds her, and she (disastrously) tries to make him her home. -–—Daryl&OC
1. seeing red

_**seeing red**_

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_you can't_  
><em>believe your<em>  
><em>eyes at first<em>

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They find her almost dead, eyes closed as though submerged in deep slumber. A thin trail of blood drizzles down her chin, lips agape and breathing weak as she quietly fights to stay in the world of the living. She's peaceful, nothing but serenity on her face as she lays there, her back against the thick mattress of dirt and dry leaves that veils the ground.

"Damn… Girlie's a fine piece of work for a mongrel," Merle snickers, his hungry eyes examining her from head to toe. But his racist remarks are ignored, and he can swear his younger brother is dazzled by the girl's comely appearance. He continues, though, "Gotta admit 'em race traitors did a real good job with this one… Wouldn't mind gettin' all up in that—"

"Knock it off, Merle. She's just a kid," Daryl cuts him off, earning himself a taunting smirk from the other redneck.

Her feminine features are youthful, as if only recently reached adulthood. Her kinky hair is a mess of loose, caramel blonde curls, and her tan skin is festooned with scratches and bruises. There are no bite marks they can see, and they soon realize most of the damp blood staining her grubby, torn clothes is gushing from a deep, vertical cut on the inner side of her left arm.

"A sweet piece of ass, is what she is… and I sure as hell ain't the only one that thinks that," Merle says, and that's when Daryl realizes there's crimson smeared on her tights, too. "Seems someone's been givin' the bone to her…" Merle watches his younger brother kneel next to the girl, eyes wide in shock as realization hits him. "Ya wanna have a go with her, too?" he taunts, his smirk growing wider, "Can't say I blame ya. Nothin' better than young meat—"

"It ain't like that!" Daryl retorts, cutting him off, "…Can't leave her like this, s'all." And it's true, because right now, she's nothing but walker bait. The open wound on her arm speaks to him, telling him that she's the kind of girl who can't cope with this world's cruelness, and probably because of that, he finds himself unable to walk away.

"Well, if ya ain't claimin' her, I will, baby brother," Merle speaks with that usual sneer of his, and Daryl tries his best to ignore him, "It ain't like she don't know how—"

"Just shut up, bro!" Daryl yells, and it feels alien to him, standing up to his brother like this. It seems it's a major shock for Merle, too, as he just stares at him in silence, eyes wide as plates.

Daryl is about to pick the girl up in his arms, when she suddenly stirs at the mere touch of his calloused hands. He flinches, watching her as she slowly flutters her eyelashes open, revealing a pair of glassy, aqua orbs. She stares at him in complete emptiness through half-lidded eyes, almost as if too exhausted to even react at all.

"We ain't gonna hurt ya," Daryl reassures her, his voice low and strangely soft. Her tensed limbs relax, but no words come out from her full, rosy lips. "You alright?" he asks, and an instant later regrets having asked such a dumb, pointless question. Of course she's not alright; he doesn't need to hear it from her to know. "…What's yer name, girl?"

She offers nothing but silence, and a sigh escapes Merle's mouth. "Ain't no point in tryin' to talk to her now."

"…Guess you're right," Daryl mumbles as he slowly picks her up in his arms, careful as though she were made of porcelain. Her skinny body is light and limp, almost like that of a rag doll's, and he fears he might wreck her even more than she already is if he's not cautious enough. "C'mon," he says, "Let's go back to camp."

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_but now_  
><em>you know you've<em>  
><em>seen the worst<em>

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	2. poison heart

_**poison heart**_

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The mistreated body in Daryl's arms was received with nothing but dread.

She was an ivory canvas splattered in red, a macabre piece of art painted in an ephemeral moment of pleasure, and the deep contrast between crimson blood and purplish bruises was a fresh reminder of mankind's decreasing humanity.

No one asked the redneck anything regarding the broken doll he had found in the middle of the woods, but he could hear a curious murmuring growing in the distance.

The first one to break the overwhelming silence was Andrea, who kindly offered her help and, followed by Lori and Carol, took the girl to the quarry where they usually did laundry to wash off the dirt and dried blood caked up on her pale skin.

An hour has gone by and the women have yet to come back, and a strange feeling of anxiety arises inside the younger Dixon. He chews on his thumb nail, silently wondering if she's still breathing, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he should go and check on her. He nervously fidgets in place, trying to convince himself he doesn't care, but the vivid image of her wounds haunt him and he finds himself heading to the quarry.

There he sees her sitting weakly on the ground, half-numb, half-dead, but clean nonetheless. Her grubby attire is tossed aside on the ground, her scrawny frame dressed in clothes that aren't hers.

Andrea is kneeling in front of her, talking as softly as possible while Carol tenderly rubs a hand on her back, staring at her with sympathy on her crystal blue eyes. Daryl is too far away to hear what the sunshine blonde is saying, but he can tell her strives to interact with the stagnant girl in front of her are futile. She's quiet, lips sealed and eyes lost as pitiful words of support enter one ear and exit out the other.

"We should leave her be…" Lori suggests, aware of the dark smudges of exhaustion coloring the skin beneath the girl's aqua eyes. Carol seems to agree with the brunette, and realizing they wouldn't get any answers today, Andrea gives up with a defeated sigh.

Daryl watches as Lori and Carol help the girl stand on her feet, their grips on her sore arms prudent yet firm as her wobbly knees threaten to fail her. She's incredibly feeble, fragile as thin glass, but she manages to make her feet step forward despite the burning blisters on them.

As she walks with the aid of the women on her sides, she suddenly loses balance and her ankle twists in a flash of pain, a wince darting across her features as a shriek escapes her dry lips. Daryl feels relieved they didn't let her fall; he believes she might have broken like fine china on the floor if they did.

"Take it easy, sweetie," Carol tells her gently, "There's no rush."

Slowly, so the girl wouldn't trip on her flimsy feet, they head to the camp, all of them unaware of the redneck following them like a shadow.

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A few days have passed, days the girl spent inside the privacy of the RV.

The day she arrived was quite a turbulent one, her abused frame triggering sentiments of panic and distress in people. Her body, bloody and bruised, was hanging torpid in his arms as death mockingly dangled from her limp limbs.

Daryl thought she would die.

"Girlie won't last long," Merle had said.

"You think she'll be alright…?" Lori had asked.

"Hate to say it, but we probably shouldn't get our hopes up," Shane had replied.

She proved them all wrong, though.

Now she's finally healing, though laboriously like a dainty flower blooming in ice.

Throughout the week, Daryl has seen many people go in and out the RV, but only a few lucky ones of the thirty-three people in the camp — Amy, Andrea, Carol, Lori and Jacqui — have had the merit to hear her voice. Today, though, it seems another person was added to that small list.

"Hey, Chinaman!" Daryl yells, and the alluded asian boy jumps in startle as he steps out of the old vehicle. Once the boy turns to look at him, the redneck is quick to speak, "Ya talked to her?"

"Yeah," Glenn replies as he walks to stand in front of him.

There's a pause.

"…She alright?" Daryl finally asks.

Glenn blinks, dumbfounded. He finds it suspicious, the fact the younger Dixon is showing concern for someone other than his brother. "She seems alright… I mean, she talks now," he replies, "I think she needs some more rest but yeah… She's okay."

For some reason, Daryl feels oddly glad. "What'd she say?"

"She asked me to pick up some stuff for her," Glenn says, "Cigarettes, painkillers… Stuff like that."

Daryl stands silently, his expression unreadable as he registers what he just heard. An instant later, he gives the boy a silent nod and walks away, heading to the distant spot where his tent is.

He passes by the RV, and, for a fugacious moment, he considers going in, seeing her with his very own eyes to assure himself she's not the small ghost of someone they failed to save. He doesn't, though; he can't bring himself to go near her, probably because he knows the mere sight of her ravished skin would make a peculiar mixture of outrage and dejection erupt inside him.

"Her name's Billie by the way."

Daryl stops in his tracks, only to look at the asian boy over his shoulder. Once again, he nods and resumes his way, her rough name echoing in his mind like a mellow bell.

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The vast sky above their heads is tinted a flawless blue, and the blistering daylight from the sun gives the girl's — _Billie's_ — tan skin a luminous glow.

Daryl is sitting in the distance, his eyes on her instead of the half-skinned squirrel on his hands.

Her bruises are now a shade of dim yellow, and her once bleeding wounds are slowly becoming scars. Just like her skin has regained its honey glow color, her aqua eyes have a bright glow about them, and there's a jovial sweetness emanating from her as she sits with the children.

Sophia's small hands are on her curly hair, her fingers getting tangled on its kinkiness as she clumsily tries to braid it. Carl is in front of her, a childish smile across his face as he talks, the plastic car he usually plays with forgotten on his grubby hands. Billie doesn't say much; she just listens to the little boy as she stares into his sky blue eyes, her full lips curved in a tiny, yet warm smile.

Billie seems comfortable, finally able to digest company, but the slight glee on her face vanishes away the instant she sees a tall, muscular man approaching her. She flinches as he stands near her, his dark eyes fixed on her.

"Feelin' better?" Shane asks, trying to sound as affable as possible. Daryl snorts at the whole scene, trying to put his attention back on skinning the small animal.

She forces a gulp down her throat and nods, her entire body tensed up in anxiety. Shane can almost smell the girl's fear. "Glad to hear that…" he smiles, but she doesn't return it. "You might want to change that," he adds, pointing at the bloody bandage around her arm, "You don't want that wound infected, now do you?"

Billie shakes her head, stiff like a scared child.

The panic Daryl discerned on the young girl's face is exactly why he didn't talk to her in the first place; he knew she wouldn't react well, and if someone like him — someone who isn't exactly the brightest crayon in the box when it comes to feelings — could see it as clear as water, then he expected the ex-cop to be a little more sensitive, and a little less nosy.

Not that he cares, though. This — or rather, _Billie_ — isn't his problem.

When Shane leaves, a relieved sigh escapes her mouth, and Carl notices it. "Don't worry," he reassures her, "Shane's nice."

"He's your dad?" Billie asks, and her heart throbs when the boy's expression falls.

"My dad's dead," Carl mumbles, his eyes downcast.

Billie presses her lips into a thin line, not sure what to say. She has lost people too, people she adored, people she needed to keep going, and couldn't bring herself to lie to the boy, saying that the pain of losing loved ones would go away when she's still mourning the dead.

"Mine too," is all she says.

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Night has fallen, and the forest is alive with the sounds of wildlife.

The entire campsite is pitch-black except for the fires, and though she's not particularly fond of darkness, she prefers it to having to endure being around strangers. People drain her, always have, and she knows herself well enough to know she can't deal with others right now.

Smoke escapes from her mouth as she exhales, sweet nicotine rushing through her veins. There are only two cigarettes left in the ragged packet inside her pocket, and for a chain smoker like her, such a small dose of tobacco isn't enough.

Billie brings the cancer stick to her lips and sucks in, savoring the taste of smoke in her lungs before breathing out through parted lips.

Cigarettes have always been her precious source of pleasure, her irresistible vice, her only indulgence. Today, though, she doesn't enjoy them. She can't, because she feels ruined, wrecked, sad to the core, and not even a million cigarettes can cure the poisoned wounds in her heart.

Her trail of thought is broken by the feeling of stares, and she looks up to see a pair of rednecks sitting away from everyone else in the campsite. For a second, aqua green meets cobalt blue, and she has the feeling she has stared into those eyes before. She doesn't dwell much on it, though, because the older one of the duo is looking at her with a smirk across his face, his hungry eyes sending a chill down her spine.

Her heart starts pounding hard, dread quickly overwhelming her system, and she just escapes from there. She rushes and gets inside the RV, disappearing just like a phantom, and she's already gone when the older Dixon lets out an amused laugh, while the younger one remains silent, his gaze lingering on the vehicle's door.

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_no one  
>ever thought<br>this one would  
>survive<em>

_helpless  
>child, gonna<br>walk a drum  
>beat behind<em>

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	3. alive

**_alive_**

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_every_  
><em>day's such<em>  
><em>a task when this<em>  
><em>world's such<em>  
><em>a mess<em>

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_The radio has stopped working long time ago, and the ride is so quiet one could hear a pin drop._

_Neither of the three utters a single word about the situation they're in, and though Billie has the urge to ask her older brother what on earth they're going to do, no words come out from her mouth. She stays silent, __probably because she's afraid of receiving an 'I have no idea' for an answer._

"…_Dad's dead?" Charles suddenly asks, his soft voice interrupting an overwhelming silence that has lasted for hours._

_Francis tries to ignore his little brother, he really does, but the slight concern he senses on the little boy's flimsy voice makes his grip on the wheel tighten to the point his knuckles turn a pale shade of white._

_Billie gives him a look, a look that silently orders him to remain silent, and so he does. H__e presses his lips into a thin line and focuses on the road, forcefully swallowing every single insult he was about to spit._

"_Dunno, Charlie…" Billie sighs, "Maybe… Maybe not."_

"_Ok." Charles is still a little child, ingenuous, innocent and irreproachable, but the heavy atmosphere that suddenly builds up doesn't pass unnoticed by his naïve eyes. "I'm sorry…" he apologizes timidly, his eyes downcast and avoiding his siblings' gloomy gazes._

_Silence seems to make time go slower, and the road trip towards Atlanta starts to feel endless._

_As expected, they aren't the only ones heading to the safety of the big city, and soon the siblings find themselves caught in the middle of a massive traffic jam on the highways._

"_Are ya fuckin' kiddin' me…?" Francis protests in annoyance, "The hell's wrong with these people? There shouldn't be a fuckin' traffic jam in the end of the world!"_

_Billie notices people standing outside their cars, and she decides she needs to stretch her limbs out. Stepping out of the vehicle,__ she almost starts panicking when she finds nothing in the pockets of her jeans._

"_Got a smoke, Frank?" she asks her brother, who takes his own pack out and holds it towards her through the rolled-down window of the car. __She stares at it for a second. "No menthols?"_

"_Nah… Ain't a wimp like you," Francis taunts, earning himself a glare from his sister._

_Billie snatches one of the cancer sticks, places it between her lips and lights it, hoping it would soothe her unbearable nerves. __Leaning against the car, she smokes as her bored eyes follow the helicopters flying through the starry night sky. "Hey__… __Atlanta's not that far," she comments, "Can see it from here."_

_"For real?" Francis steps out of the vehicle, followed by his curious little brother. He gazes at the distant city ahead, and a jolly grin immediately takes over his usually surly features._

_There are countless people around him expecting a spot in the refugee centers awaiting for them ahead, but he can't care less; he would definitely make sure his beloved siblings made it to safety._

_Then suddenly, the city, their safety, their last chance _— _they watch it disappear right in front of their eyes._

_Flashes of light blind them for a moment, and people scream in panic as hell breaks loose kilometers ahead. Buildings, skyscrapers, stadiums, even the supposed refugee centre, everything gets engulfed in fire as helicopters drop napalm in the streets, destroying the entire metropolis along with humanity's hopes of surviving._

_Francis is engrossed in the chaotic havoc when his brother's soft cries make him snap out of his trance. He picks the scared child up and hugs him tightly, his eyes still glued to the mayhem taking place ahead._

_"Don't worry, Charlie," he whispers white lies to his sobbing brother, "Everything's gonna be okay."_

_Francis notices that Charles isn't the only one panicking; Billie is there, too, watching their last hope being taken away from them with eyes that threat to spill tears. __He reminds her that he's still there by taking her trembling hand on his, but she doesn't look up. Her face is embarrassingly damp right now, and she doesn't want him to see._

_"We'll be just fine…" Francis tells them, "Trust me."_

Except they weren't, and all she has left of them are vague memories.

Billie knows there's no use in dwelling in the past, so she tries to forget, to bury her dead brothers on the back of her mind. She tries and tries but she just can't, because their grins, their eyes, their voices — every single detail about them is ingrained into her memory.

Her family, tiny and broken, was precious to her. Yet, she lost them.

Her brothers are dead, and so is her will to keep going.

Billie snaps out of her trance when a soft voice rings in her ears. "Bill?"

She looks up, only to see Amy standing in front of her with concern on those dreamy blue eyes of hers. Her espadrilles are muddy, and her pastel-colored clothes are stained in dirt. The red, plastic tray in the blonde's grubby hands reminds her forgotten dinner tasks.

"You alright?" Amy asks, worried.

Billie gives herself a little shake. "Yeah, yeah…" she replies, "I was just, y'know_…_ spacin' out."

Amy chuckles. "You're always spacin' out," she smiles, sitting beside her.

It's true, Billie does space out, her mind lost in vivid memories of her not so merry life before the apocalypse. She can't help missing it, the unconditional company of her brothers. Without it, she feels dolefully lonely, even if people surround her.

Billie smiles back, weak and somewhat forced. "Managed to find some 'shrooms?"

"Yeah…" Amy says, showing her the brown mushrooms inside the tray, "Can't tell if they're poison, though…"

"Show 'em to Lori," Billie suggests, "I mean, she's the one who asked for 'shrooms… She must know somethin', right?"

"Already did," Amy says, "She said she'd ask Shane when he gets back."

Billie's eyes scan the entire camp.

Carl is alone in the distance, playing with toys without supervision whatsoever. Nearby is Carol, sitting behind her young daughter as she gently brushes her soft, blonde hair. Dale is on top of the RV as usual, looking around the area through his binoculars as he sits under the shadow of his stripped umbrella. Jim and Morales are chopping wood for fire, while the latter's wife is doing laundry as children blissfully play around her.

There are absolutely no signs of Shane or Lori, and it isn't the first time the couple vanishes in thin air.

Billie is about to make a witty remark about the couple when she notices a gloomy air about the blonde girl next to her.

"Amy?" she asks, "You okay?"

"Yeah, just…" Amy trails off, "You think Andrea's gonna be okay?"

Andrea has been gone for a few hours now. She volunteered to go in a run despite her younger sister pleaded her not to, and she has yet to come back from the death trap that is Atlanta.

The living corpses that now reside in the ghost metropolis are deadly, milky eyes filled with hunger and rotten teeth ready to tear flesh. They are violently murderous, blood-thirsty creatures she's seen kill with her own eyes before, and to tell the truth, she doubts the group stands a chance against them.

She can't bring herself to tell Amy such a thing, though. Not when her beloved older sister is part of a that group.

Billie doesn't look at the blonde in the eye. "Yeah…" she says, half-heartedly, "She's_… _she's gonna be just fine."

Biting her lower lip, she hopes her words aren't lies.

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"She volunteered to go… to help the rest of us!" Amy exclaims in indignation.

"I know, and she knew the risks, right? See, if she's trapped… she's gone…" Shane tells the blonde, seemingly expecting her to simply accept her older sister's ill fate, "So we just have to deal with that. There's nothing we can do."

Amy stares at him, unnerved at his cold words. "She's my sister, you son of a bitch." She turns on her heel and runs away, followed by a reluctant Lori.

Billie considers going too. In the end, though, she chooses to stay where she is, because though she knows exactly what the blonde is going through, she's still unable to comfort others. After all, the sudden loss of her family is something she has yet to overcome herself.

The chilly wind howls and a thunder roars in the sky, a lighting suddenly flashing through the stormy darkness. Billie likes days like this one, days in which the sea above her head is painted in a dull shade of gray. Today, though, she feels dispirited, dearly missing the warm solace of the sunlight.

Sad to the bone, she stares up at the upcoming storm, her eyes glassy and empty. The sky threatens to cry, but she swore to herself she won't allow herself to.

Not that she can anyway. She already ran out of tears.

Death is bizarrely playful, and she wonders how many people are going to die today. Glenn, T-Dog, Andrea, Merle, Morales, Jacqui — maybe even Daryl.

For a second, the younger Dixon lingers in her mind.

Daryl Dixon. The younger one out of two brothers. A tough, yet seemingly nice redneck. Such an enigmatic man in her opinion.

Billie doesn't know much about him yet. All she knows is that he saved her life, picked her ravished body from the cold ground and carried her to safety without expecting anything back. She also knows that behind that unfriendly look he usually wears across his face, he seems to hide a peculiar soft heart.

She noted that he doesn't interact much with others, always following Merle around like a shadow and doing as he says. Still, unlike his brother, he seems to care about people. After all, he diligently goes hunting and shares his kills with the rest of the camp.

Daryl seems like a nice person, she thinks.

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Much to her surprise, the group returned safe and sound from the mortal city. Euphoria fills the air as families reunite in front of her, and a slight feeling of envy rises within her, which quickly turns into bitter sadness.

Her chest hurts when she spots Carl in the distance, struggling not to break as his mother comforts him as best as she can. His father is dead, she remembers he said, and she knows how tough it is for him to watch Morales wrapping his arms around his ecstatic children.

His family is broken; she knows exactly how he feels.

She knows, because the wounds on her heart rip open as she watches Amy and Andrea hugging each other with tears on their eyes.

Suddenly, her damp eyes find an unknown face stepping out the truck. Cop uniform, dark hair and a pair of incredibly blue eyes, the mysterious man walks towards the group with skeptical steps, and his face lights up the instant he sees a certain woman and a certain boy.

"Dad!" Carl cries in joy, running towards him as his mother follows him behind.

Billie feels as though she has witnessed a miracle.

She watches the family through watery eyes, lips curved in a small smile that hides the tornado of emotions inside of her.

Despite the acidic jealousy that burns her insides, she's honestly happy that the group came back safe and sound. At the same time, though, she can't help wondering why lady luck and lord fate seem to despise her. Families around her are merrilly together, but hers — hers was ripped apart beyond repair.

Between tears, she notices an absence that makes her teary eyes widen.

Merle is nowhere to be seen.

He's gone.

Daryl's only family is gone.

Tears finally slide down her cheeks, and she realizes that maybe, just maybe, her family isn't the only one that is broken.

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**a/n:**  
>thank you so much for the nice feedback<br>it means the world to me really!


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